


Lost

by littlemisscurious



Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, missing person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-01
Updated: 2015-08-01
Packaged: 2018-04-12 11:50:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4478264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlemisscurious/pseuds/littlemisscurious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During a holiday with his best friend a few years ago, she went missing and just like every year since that horrible day, Tom goes back to the house, hoping for answers. Will he finally find what he's been looking for now?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost

 

Tom pulled the coat closer around his shoulder as he stood on top of the rocks, watching the unruly waves crash against the shore below him. It had all been so much more peaceful back then, so much prettier and untainted by these memories, these doubts and questions. Far above him, the sun was struggling against the clouds, desperately trying to force her way through the thick, greyish layers on this chilly and windy summer day.

It didn’t really feel like summer here, hadn’t really felt like it for years, at least not for him. Behind him, he could hear the footsteps of his sister on the rocks and he took another deep breath, quickly trying to blink the tears away that had started to pool within his eyes.

“Do you want to stay some more?,” Emma asked, quietly, her hands buried in the pockets of her jeans. Tom shook his head. What difference would it make if he remained here, staring at the ocean as if the water could give him any answers to his questions?

 

Wordlessly, they climbed back up to the gardens, neglected and overgrown. It was a sad sight indeed but it matched his mood. He didn’t glance at the house, now equally as neglected and ruined as the garden. Little pointed to the fact that only 5 years ago it had been a house one could rent for the weekend or even longer. The front door no longer closed properly, almost all off the windows were broken and the wind howled through the corridors as it stood there on top of the cliff.

They crossed the gravelled driveway with the old fountain in the middle. All kinds of plants were now growing in the basin and here and there the stone had cracked. He closed his eyes as a memory of her sitting on the edge flashed through his mind, her hair almost the same colour as the water, and her fingers breaking through its surface as she laughed at the sound it made when it hit the edge. Bending forward, he felt sick for a moment and Emma stopped a few metres away from him, watching her brother closely. She hadn’t thought it would still hurt him so much to come back here. On the contrary, she had hoped it would help him come to terms, to say goodbye at last.

 

After a few deep breaths, Tom stood upright again and now, as he was facing the large, rusty gate, one side of which was only hanging on one of its hinges by now, he could hear her again. She was calling his name, laughing at the same time. Her loose shirt and her hot pants were only just covering her slender frame and he wondered if she’d purposely forgotten to put on a bra this morning.

 _“Thomas! Stop staring at that silly gate and come over here! The view is absolutely amazing,”_ she had shouted and he had laughed quietly before following her through the then neatly landscaped garden towards the small gate at the side, overlooking the ocean below.

 

“Tom?” Emma’s voice was quiet compared to the wind and the crashing sound of the waves. Briefly, he shook his head before he looked at his sister standing only a few metres away from him, her eyes so full of worry and sadness. She, too, had lost a friend here. He sometimes forgot that in his grief.

Quietly, they walked further down the unpaved road, away from the house looming behind them, it’s broken windows looking like empty eyes and its large oak door, with a few of its panels missing, like a mouth laughing at them with its missing teeth. And yet, despite its empty, almost threatening appearance, he stopped once more as they reached the gate and he turned and stared.

He wasn’t quite sure what he was waiting for as he stood there, looking at the house. Was he hoping for a sign, for a clue? He probably was. He was hoping for something that would lay this case to rest. Her body had never been found, no one, neither Tom, nor the former owner of the place, nor the local police had any idea what had happened to her.

One morning she had been gone, her bed unmade and slept in, her clothes still where they had been before, her glasses still lying on her bedside table atop the book she had been reading. All the doors and windows had been closed and due to the rainless summer no footsteps had been available to trace outside either. It was as if she had simply vanished into thin air, nowhere and never to be found.

 

At first they had suspected him, of course. No one else had been there apart from the two of them but quickly he had been ruled innocent because no evidence had been found against him. He had been a wreck the months after. Not only had he lost his friend, his soulmate, but he had also been accused of her murder, falsely of course, but accused nonetheless.

“Tom? Where are you going?,” Emma called out as he walked back towards the house, his feet moving of their own accord, with him unable to stop. He walked up to the front door that was still mocking him. It was ajar and he pushed it open, stepping into the dim foyer. Her room had been on the first floor, not too far away from his own and, carefully avoiding the holes in the floor, he walked up the creaking staircase. Rubble was lying everywhere and the walls and floors were damp. Here and there lay earth and moss had started to grow in a few of the corners.

A bird flew off and down the hallway out of the window at the far end as he reached the landing and he looked into the semi-darkness. His footsteps were loud, too loud, in the empty house and he almost turned back. But as if something was pushing him further, was edging him on, he walked on until he had reached the door of the room she had stayed in last. No one else had stay in the house since then. It had been closed off by the police for weeks and afterwards no one had wanted to book a room here which led to its eventual neglect and decay.

With his foot, he pushed the door open and looked inside. Cobwebs were everywhere and just like the rest of the house, this room was lacking a window pane. A few puddles were on the floor by the hole in the wall but he turned towards the opposite end where the huge four-poster bed still stood. He blinked once as his gaze roamed over the bedside table. Why was her book still there? Had they really forgotten to take it back then?

Cautiously, afraid the floor might give way after all, he stepped forward until he was able to pick it up. It felt damp and smelled a little mouldy. A few of the pages stuck together as he opened it and he only realised he was crying when a tear hit the page he was staring at. With clammy hands, he put it back again, surprised when a folded piece of paper slipped out at the back. He bent down and picked it up, believing it to be her bookmark. But when he unfolded it and realised that the words were written in her own handwriting, he started shaking once again.

 

_My dearest Thomas,_

_I am not sure when you will be reading this but I know I will no longer be there. I will be in a place that, I am sure, won’t necessarily be better because you won’t be there, but it will be less painful for sure._

_I am ill, Thomas, very ill. There’s no cure, they told me. I might live but not for very long and it won’t be a good life anymore._

_I was diagnosed with frontotemporal dementia a few months ago. Sounds unlikely, doesn’t it? Alzheimer’s at 22. I suppose you, just like myself, always thought of it as a disease only older people could get, right? Well, this one’s different. They told me I had between 6 and 8 years, maybe less. I was one of the more unfortunate cases they said. In less than 4 years I might require 24-hour care and way before then I would show difficulties with speaking, hearing, reading, even behaving properly._

_I don’t want to end like that, Thomas. Do you understand that? You’ve known me almost all my life. You know how much I love talking and laughing and living. But not like this. Not when my memory is slipping away, not when I forget who you are and who my parents are and my friends. Not when I forget who I am myself when I look into the mirror each morning. I do not want to end like this._

_I also know this isn’t fair on you and I was thinking of other ways but, as horrible as it sounds, this seemed the best way. It’s the middle of the night now, our last night here in fact. Tomorrow morning we’re meant to go back to London, back to RADA. You will. I won’t._

_By the time you read this, my dearest Thomas, I will no longer be on this earth. In a few moments, I will sneak out of the house and I will go down to the shore and go into the water until I can no longer hear or feel or breathe. This is how I want to die, not vegetating in some care home relying on people to feed me, clothe me, bathe me. I want to make this decision myself and I want to die while I still know how wonderful my life has been._

_Especially with you and because of you. I love you, Thomas. I always have, I suppose, and every moment I was able to spend with you was heaven on earth. I want to thank you for every moment that you made me laugh, every moment you held me when I cried, every moment you knew exactly what to say. You are such a special human being and I know that you will achieve great things. You will make so many people as happy as you’ve made me and I want you to live your life with as much enthusiasm as now._

_Don’t be sad that I am gone. Smile because of all the wonderful moments we had. Smile because you know that I will be in a place without pain, a better place for me. I know it’s selfish but I also know you’ll understand. One day at least._

_Take care, my darling._

_Yours always,_

_Taryn_

 

“Tom? Tom, where are you?” It was Emma’s voice, clearly betraying her worry, her fear for him, that made him tear his eyes away from the piece of paper in his hands. Carefully, he folded it up again and together with the book he carried it out of the room. Once more his steps echoed loudly through the empty house and his sister let out a sigh of relief when he joined her downstairs again.

“I was so worried, Tom! Where were you?,” she asked, as she led him outside. Once again standing in the driveway she looked up into his face, his cheeks wet with tears. “Oh Tom,” she mumbled but before she could pull him into a hug, she saw the book in his hands and the piece of paper on top of it.

 

Silently, he handed her the letter to read while he crossed the garden and walked to the gate at the side that led straight down towards the beach. The ocean was still as unruly as before and now that the sun had lost her fight against the clouds, it looked threatening and dark. This was the place she had chosen as her resting place. This was what had taken her from him, from this world, with her permission.

He doubled over, feeling like someone had punched him in the gut, all air leaving his lungs, his eyes stinging with tears when realisation hit him that he had lost her…for good. All his hopes, his prayers that she’d be found somewhere after all, had been squashed by this letter, by her own words, her own confession. And he no longer knew how he’d cope with the knowledge that, all these years ago, she had walked past his room while he slept, out of the house, and into the ocean, determined to end her own life before her illness took it from her. And he couldn’t decide if she had been brave…or merely lost; lost like he was now.


End file.
